


Words Cut, Words Heal

by Cynicwithatwist



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, canon divergence - post season 2, clarke never left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6307171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynicwithatwist/pseuds/Cynicwithatwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes” he agrees in a murmur, “I would have.  That doesn’t stop me from worrying about you.”<br/>Bellamy’s confession is blaringly loud, and Clarke can’t help but suck in a surprised breath.  She knows he cares for her fiercely, just as she does for him, but the man rarely verbalizes such notions.  Affection blooms in her chest, chasing away all that remains of her exasperation.<br/>“Would it make you feel better if I said I worry about you too?” </p><p>Or Bellamy and Clarke get into an argument concerning safety.  All is forgiven after some intimate quality time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Cut, Words Heal

His eyes are embers, dark and all consuming.  Seconds away from exploding into flames born from the deepest parts of fury, a swirling mass of charcoal clouds and snarling thunder and sharp lightening about to unleash all of its crackling energy. 

Clarke has seen him like this before, when Octavia manages to land herself in serious trouble or an alliance falls through, but not at her.  Never at her.

“Bellamy,” she begins, unsure of where she’s going but knowing something must be said.  They cannot afford a tempest in their midst now.  “I know you don’t agree with what I did, but it was the most viable option we had.  You have to see that.”

He’s been pacing back and forth in front of her for minutes, a seething caged predator.  As soon as Clarke is finished Bellamy wheels around, stalking forward and stopping only when he’s towering over her.  Clarke doesn’t move from her chair.  She watches his face calmly; an antithesis to the taunt muscles in his jaw.

“What I see,” he growls lowly, “is that my co-leader almost got herself killed.  What the hell were you thinking, Clarke?”

She had been thinking a lot of things; primarily that she had to get Jasper away from that Ice Nation warrior before her friend lost his head.  While relationships between Arkadia and Trikru had stabilized after the catastraphie at Mount Weather (Lexa’s betrayal still smarted greatly, but personal feelings did not belong in political arrangements), Azgeda proved to be worrisome.  Lexa’s coalition held them back from attacking for the moment, but Clarke always felt as if all involved were on the precipice of a bloody war.  She knew she wasn’t the only one.  She could see it in the perpetual frown carved into Bellamy’s face, the tense shoulders of her mother, the way in which Indra, Octavia, and Lincoln had begun training for longer stretches of time.  Everyone was simply waiting for the first move to be made, and Clarke had no intention of allowing that to be Jasper’s death.

 “I was thinking the situation needed to be taken care of,” she replies flatly.  “So I took care of it.”

 Bellamy rakes a hand through his hair, the already unruly curls twisting in such a way they begin to look like a briar bush, all sharp edges and biting points.  Clarke wants to reach up and smooth them down, offer comfort that she knows her touch brings.  Instead she folds her hands in her lap and waits.

“You shouldn’t have done it alone.  If you just waited one more minute I would have been there.  They’re trained warriors, Clarke.  They’re dangerous, you can’t just-”

“Can’t just what?” she snaps, shooting out of her chair so there’s only a breath between them.  The blood pounding in her veins has begun to boil, threatening to seep out of her skin and stain the whole universe crimson.  “ _Everything_ on the ground is dangerous!  Just living is a risk, and if you think I’m going to sit back and not help my friend because I don’t have adequate backup, you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

She’s glaring at him now, expression made half of fire and half of ice.  Clarke doesn’t understand; Bellamy is the only person who utterly gets her.  They share the same crucible of protecting their people no matter the personal cost, so why is he upset?

“You would have done the same,” she finally sighs, cutting tone deflating to one of exhaustion.  The day has been long enough; she doesn’t want to fight with him.

His eyes soften, losing their harsh edge.  Slowly Bellamy raises a hand up, calloused fingers tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear before returning to her face.  He brushes his thumb absentmindedly across the cut marring her cheek.  She’d received that today, courtesy of an Ice Nation warrior.

“Yes” he agrees in a murmur, “I would have.  That doesn’t stop me from worrying about you.”

Bellamy’s confession is blaringly loud, and Clarke can’t help but suck in a surprised breath.  She knows he cares for her fiercely, just as she does for him, but the man rarely verbalizes such notions.  Affection blooms in her chest, chasing away all that remains of her exasperation.

“Would it make you feel better if I said I worry about you too?”

He doesn’t answer and they stand in silence for a moment, growing lost in each other.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Bellamy bends down.  His lips are tentative against hers, gentle and warm and reassuring.  All traits she’s identified in Bellamy at some point or another, all fragments of him that she keeps close.

He pulls back before leaning slightly forward so their foreheads are pressed together.  Clarke’s hands are linked behind his neck and though she doesn’t remember consciously moving her arms, it feels right.  It feels perfect.

“So does this mean we’re good?” She asks.

The corners of Bellamy’s mouth turn up.

“We’re better than good,” he states, “we’re great.”

 And then she’s smiling and he’s kissing her again and for the first time in months she’s not drowning in thoughts of slit throats and dead friends.  Of a war that seems to be imminent no matter how she tries to combat it.  Those thoughts will return, without a doubt, but Clarke will be ready.  She and Bellamy will get through what lies ahead like they always do.  Together.     

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray in respect to writing for The 100, so I'd love it if you guys let me know what you think! And I hope this fic gave you some nice Bellarke feels, because lord knows we all need them at the moment. Thanks for reading!


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